It seemed a long morning, but at last the clock struck twelve. The superintendent rose.

"I have something to say to you all," she said. "You had this morning a breakfast which you could not eat, so you must be hungry. I have ordered that a lunch of bread and cheese should be served to all."

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Both pupils and teachers looked at her with a sort of glad surprise. She left the room and in a little while the bread and cheese was brought in and given out, to the high delight of the whole school. When we had eaten the order was given: "To the garden!" We each put on a straw bonnet and grey cloak and, following the stream of chattering girls, I made my way into the open air.

As yet I had hardly spoken to anyone, and nobody seemed to take any notice of me. I stood lonely enough, drawing my cloak around me and trying to forget the cold which nipped me. The sound of a cough close behind made me turn my head. I saw a girl sitting on a stone bench nearby. She was bent over a book, but then looked up and said:

"I suppose you are an orphan?"

"Yes," I said, "my parents died before I can remember."

"All the girls here have lost either one or both parents."

"Does this house belong to the tall lady who said we were to have some bread and cheese?" I asked.

"To Miss Temple? Oh, no! I wish it did. She has to answer to Mr. Brocklehurst for all she does. He buys all our food and clothes."

"Does he live here?"

"Notwo miles off, at a large mansion."

"Do you like the teachers?"

"Well enough."

"Have you been here long?"

"Two years."

"Are you happy here?"

"You ask too many questions, and I've answered enough for the moment. Now I want to read."

But at that moment the bell rang and we all went back to the schoolroom. Lessons went on till five o'clock, but the only thing I can remember about that afternoon was that I saw the girl with whom I had talked in the garden sent to stand in the middle of the large schoolroom as a punishment. I wondered what sort of girl she was, whether good or naughty.

Soon after five o'clock we had another meala small mug of coffee and half a slice of brown bread. I ate and drank with relish. I could have eaten three times as much, for I was still hungry.

Half an hour's play followed, then study; then the glass of water and the piece of oatcake, prayers, and bed.

Such was my first day at Lowood Orphanage.

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Chapter Four

Red Hair and Curls

My first two or three months at Lowood seemed an age. DuringJanuary, February, and part of March, all the countryside lay under deep snow and we suffered much from the cold. We had no boots, the snow got into our shoes and melted there; our ungloved hands became numbed and covered with chilblains, as were our feet. All the time we were given only the barest amount of food to keep us alive.

One afternoon, as I was sitting with a slate in my hand, puzzling over a sum in long division, I lifted my eyes to the window and caught sight of a figure just passing. It was Mr. Brocklehurst, looking longer and narrower than ever.

Two minutes later, all the school rose to their feet and Mr. Brocklehurst entered. He stood at Miss Temple's side, and as I happened to be seated at the front of the room I caught most of what he said:

"I was surprised, Miss Temple, when settling accounts with the housekeeper, to find that a lunch of bread and cheese has been twice served out to the girls during the past fortnight. Why is this? We have never given them lunch before. Whose idea was it?"

"Mine, sir," replied Miss Temple. "The breakfast was so badly cooked that the pupils could not eat it. I couldn't let them go hungry until dinner-time."

Mr. Brocklehurst looked shocked at this.

"Madam," he said sternly, "you must know that my plan in bringing up these girls is not to overfeed their vile bodies, but to make them patient, hardy and self-denying."

He paused and looked round the schoolroom. Suddenly his eyes gave a blink and his face took on a shocked look once more.

"Miss Temple," he demanded, "whatwhat is that girl with curled hair? Red hair, ma'am, curled all over?"

He raised his cane and pointed to the awful object, his hand shaking as he did so.

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"It is Julia Severn," replied Miss Temple, very quietly.

"Why has she curled hair? You know I cannot have that!"

"Julia's hair curls naturally," returned Miss Temple still more quietly.

"Naturally! What has that to do with it? I have said again and again that I want the hair of these girls to be cut close and arranged modestly. I will send a barber tomorrow, for I see others who have far too much hair. Tell all the first form to stand and turn their faces to the wall."

Miss Temple gave the order. All the biggest girls obeyed, though I could see them pulling faces when their backs were turned to Mr. Brocklehurst. He looked at the head of each in turn, while we all waited in breathless silence. His words sounded like a death sentence:

"All those topknots must be cut off!"

Miss Temple opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Brocklehurst raised a hand.

"Madam," he said, "I will have no argument on this. Each of these girls has a string of hair in plaits. That, madam, is vanity! They must be cut off"

He stopped short. Three other visitors, ladies, now entered the room. All were finely dressed in velvet, silks and furs; all had long, curled hair; all were members of Mr. Brocklehurst's family, the girl next to me whispered.

Mr. Brocklehurst turned and bowed to them. At the same moment my slate slipped from my hand and fell with a crash. Every eye in the room was turned upon me, as I stooped to pick up the broken pieces.

"A careless girl!" cried Mr. Brocklehurst. "Ah, it is Jane Eyre, I see. Well, I have something to say about her. Come here, Miss Eyre!"

I was so frightened that I could not move. Two of the big girls, however, tugged me to my feet and pushed me forward.

"Fetch that stool," said Mr. Brocklehurst, pointing to a very high one.

It was brought forward.

"Place the child upon it."

I was placed on the stool, by whom I don't know. Mr. Brocklehurst stood beside me.

"Ladies," he said, turning to his family, "Miss Temple, teachers, and childrenyou all see this girl?"

Of course they did! I could feel their eyes scorching my skin.

"You see that she is young. It is my sad duty to warn you that this girl is also wicked. I have been told so by her aunt. You must be on your guard against her. Have nothing to do with her. Do not speak to her and do not let her take part in your games. Teachers, you must watch her, for this girl isa liar!"

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"How shocking!" I heard one of the ladies whisper.

"Her aunt has sent her here to be healed of her sins," Mr. Brocklehurst went on. "I beg all of you to see that it is done."

He turned away. His family moved towards the door. Mr. Brocklehurst turned and looked back.

"Let her stand half an hour longer on that stool," he said, "and let no one speak to her for the rest of the day."

The door closed behind him. I stood there, burning with shame. Long minutes passed, and then a girl came up and walked by me. It was Helen Burns, the girl with whom I had talked in the garden. In passing she lifted her eyes and smiled. When she returned to her place, she smiled at me again as she went by. What a smile! I remember it now, and how it seemed to give me strength. I knew, in that moment, that I had found a friend.

Before the half-hour ended five o'clock struck. The girls went off for tea. I now dared to get down from the stool. It was deep dusk. I crept into a corner, sat down on the floor and began to sob. I wished that I were dead, then started upagain Helen Burns was near me. She came up the long room, bringing my coffee and bread.

"Come, eat something," she said.

I went on weeping aloud, feeling as if a drop or a crumb would choke me. She sat down beside me, hugged her knees with her arms, and stayed completely silent. I was the first to speak:

"Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everyone believes to be a liar?"

"Jane, you are wrong. Most of us feel very sorry for you. Mr. Brocklehurst isn't liked here. Besides Jane" she paused.

"Well, Helen?" I said, putting my hand into hers.

"I'll be your friend," she said simply.

I put my head on her shoulder and my arm round her waist. She drew me near to her, and we sat in silence.

I would not then have exchanged Lowood, with all its hardships, for Gateshead and its daily luxuries. For the first time in my life I had found a friend.

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Chapter Five

"Do Not Grieve . . ."

As the weeks passed Lowood came to seem a better and brighter place. Spring drew on, and flowers peeped out amongst the leaves of the garden. On Thursday afternoons (half-holidays) Helen and I took walks, and found still sweeter flowers opening by the wayside, under the hedges.

Lowood itself lay in a wooded valley that was the cradle of dank fogand the fog brought sickness, which, with the coming of spring, crept into the Orphanage and breathed typhus through its crowded schoolroom and dormitory. Before the coming of May the school had been turned into a hospital.

Lack of food, and neglected colds, had left most of the pupils very weak: forty-five out of the eighty girls lay ill at one time. Classes were broken up and we were given more freedom. Those girls who were lucky to have friends and relations willing to take them in were sent home. Many, already ill, went home only to die. Some died at the school and were buried quietly and quickly.

Death, then, became an inhabitant of Lowood. But while there was gloom and fear behind its walls and rooms and passages steamed with hospital smells, the bright May sunshine fell on the bold hills and beautiful woodland out of doors. Those of us who stayed well enjoyed the beauties of the scene to the full. We were allowed to ramble in the woods like gipsies from morning till night. We did what we liked, went where we liked, and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.

Then Helen Burns fell ill and was shut away in some room upstairs. She was not in the hospital part of the house, for her complaint was consumption, not typhus, which I thought was something mild that time and care would cure.

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Once or twice, on very warm afternoons, she came downstairs and sat in the garden; but I was not allowed to go and speak to her.

One evening, at the beginning of June, I stayed out very late with a girl called Mary Ann Wilson. We'd wandered far and lost our way, and it was after moonrise when we got back. A horse, which we knew to be the doctor's, was standing at the garden door.

"Someone must be very ill," said Mary Ann sadly, "if they've sent for Doctor Bates at this time of the evening."

She went into the house. I stayed behind a few minutes to plant in my garden a handful of roots I had dug up in the forest. I heard the front door open. Doctor Bates came out, and with him was a nurse. After she had seen him mount his horse and ride away, she was about to close the door, but I ran up to her.

"How is Helen Burns?" I asked.

"Very poorly," was the answer. "The doctor says she'll not be here much longer."

I knew at once what she meant. Helen Burns was living her last days in this world. I felt a strong shock of horror, then a thrill of grief, then a wish to see her. I asked in what room she lay.

"She is in Miss Temple's room," said the nurse.

"May I go up and speak to her?"

"Oh, no, child! Now it's time for you to come in. You'll catch the fever if you stop out when the dew is falling."

I went in. It was nine o'clock and Miss Miller was calling the pupils to go to bed.

I could not sleep that night. Some hours later I rose softly from my bed, put on my frock over my night dress, crept from the dormitory and set off to find Miss Temple's room. I knew that I must see Helen to give her one last kiss before she died.

I found Miss Temple's room. A light shone through the keyhole and under the door. Everything was still and quiet. I opened the door and looked in.

Close by Miss Temple's bed, and half covered with its white curtains, there stood a little crib. I saw the outline of a form under the clothes, but the face was hidden by the hangings. The nurse to whom I had spoken in the garden sat in an easy chair, asleep. I crept towards the crib. My hand was on the curtain, when I paused, afraid that I had come too late and might find death.

"Helen," I whispered softly, "are you awake?"

She stirred herself, put back the curtain, and I saw her face, all thin and pale.

"Is it you, Jane?" she whispered.

"Oh!" I thought, "she is not going to die. They are mistaken. She could not speak so calmly if she were."

I got on to her crib and kissed her. Her forehead was cold, and her cheek cold and thin, as were her hand and wrist; but she smiled as of old.

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"Why are you here, Jane?" she asked.

"I came to see you. I heard you were ill and I could not sleep till I had spoken to you."

"You came to say good-bye, then. You are just in time."

"Are you going somewhere, Helen? Are you going home?"

"Yes, to my long home, my last home."

"No, no, Helen" I began.

I stopped. While I tried to hide my tears, a fit of coughing seized Helen. It did not, however, wake the nurse. When it was over she lay some minutes as if quite worn out. Then she whispered:

"Jane, your feet are bare. Lie down and cover yourself with my quilt."

I did so. She put her arm over me and I nestled close to her. After a long silence she whispered:

"I'm very happy, Jane. When you hear that I am dead, you must be sure not to grieve. We all must die one day, and I have no pain."

I clasped my arms closer round her. She seemed dearer to me than ever. I felt as if I could not let her go. Presently she said:

"How comfortable I am! That last fit of coughing has tired me a little. I feel as if I could sleep. Don't leave me, Jane. I like to have you near me."

"I'll stay with you, Helen. No one shall take me away."

"Are you warm?"

"Yes."

"Good-night, Jane."

"Good-night, Helen."

She kissed me, and I her. We both soon slept.

When I awoke it was day. I seemed to be moving. I looked up. I was in somebody's arms. The nurse held me and was carrying me back to the dormitory.

Later, I learned that Miss Temple, who had been tending a sick pupil, came back to her room at dawn and found me lying in the crib, my face against Helen Burns' shoulder, my arms around her neck. I was asleep, and Helen wasdead.

Her grave is in Brocklebridge churchyard. For fifteen years after her death it was covered only by a grassy mound. Now a grey marble headstone marks the spot, and on it is her name.